Beautiful
by misted-oracle
Summary: Severus has never been beautiful, not even to his lover. Slash: SeverusAlbus


**Title:** Beautiful

**Reviews:** yes please

**Rating:** PG13

**Pairing:** Albus/Severus

**Warning:** torture, angst and slash

**Summery:** Severus has never been beautiful.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, because if I did book five would have ended very differently, nor am I making any money off my writings.

* * *

**Beautiful  
**  
He's never been pretty, not since the day he first set foot inside Hogwarts and walked into Albus's life.  
  
Albus has seen many pretty people in his life, and dated a select few of them. He's witnessed sweeping blonde hair, and fluttering blue eyes, creamy pale skin, flawless in all its naked glory and perfectly curved hips and flat stomachs. Albus knows what beauty is, and he knows that Severus has never and will never have it.  
  
He's much to shallow and sunken in the face. His eyes too strongly resemble what people believe Dementor eyes look like. His lips are hard and thin, not pliable or pink. His hair is repulsive to the touch and he has a foul odor that follows him. He's not beautiful, nor is he mysteriously handsome. He's just an ugly man with a bad temper.  
  
Though Albus knows Severus is attractive, but not forming from a physical view. It's his intelligence, his cunning, his ruthlessness, and most importantly his dignity, which attracts those odd few to him.  
  
Albus may be old, but he's neither senile, nor blind. He can remember Severus as a student, an older student mostly, and how the odd young Slytherin lass, sometimes lad would find themselves smitten with their older peer. Severus never showed any sign of interest, but it always brought a small smile to Albus's lips. It was his dignity that drove people to him, even though Albus always thought the boy may have a tad too much.  
  
In thinking Albus decides it's much better to be dignified than beautiful. He strokes the bandaged hand he holds and knows that Severus would probably feel the same way, though for more biased reasons.  
  
Beauty fades in old age, and Albus knows this well. He'd been quite fetching as a lad, he thinks with a smile. Now he's just an old duff, though he doesn't mind it so much. Dignity will last forever, given the chance. The idea of Severus being a rickety old gray man, still snapping and insisting he's right is something Albus has thought of, though looking down at the man now he doubts it.  
  
That's the problem with dignity, Albus muses. It can be taken away in an instant. He supposes beauty can, too, but with magic the way it is, almost any scar or bruise can be healed. Dignity doesn't do that as well; heal within seconds.  
  
The healers aren't sure whether he'll make it. They were astounded that he'd lived long enough to actually be transported to St. Mungos. Albus had bee astounded that Severus had made it up to his rooms still breathing. Though looking back he was hardly doing that.  
  
Albus still isn't sure how he'd managed to get free. No one in the condition Severus was in the previous night could have had any hope at putting up a fight against fully armed Death Eaters. He could have been left to die, Albus supposes; the Death Eaters certainly wouldn't have counted on him crawling back to Hogwarts in such a shape. It's also possible someone helped him escape, though Albus is at a loss of who it could be. However he managed it, Severus got back to him, which is the main thing.  
  
Albus holds the man's crippled hand in his, caressing his thumb and fingers in a way he hasn't in years. Severus isn't a touchy man. He doesn't enjoy cuddles or being held or comforted in any way. Sometimes at night, when he lover is deeply asleep Albus will curl up behind him and just hold him, relishing in the closeness that Severus rarely allows in his waking hours.  
  
Albus isn't too sure whether Severus is asleep now. He's certainly incapacitated enough to let a public display of affection take place, if he's not.  
  
He strokes his bald forehead, on one of the few areas that isn't covered in bandages, bruises or burns.  
  
Severus lost his dignity last night, Albus thinks. Severus lost a lot of things last night.

* * *

He'd heard scratching at the door to his chambers. His first thought had been that Minerva had somehow gotten stuck in her cat form and was pawing for help, but then he realized that she wouldn't have been able to get by the gargoyle without saying the password. This prompted him to hurry and answer the door.  
  
And that's how he'd found him, lying on the ground, sprawled across the stairs, trying his best to knock on the door. He hadn't even been aware Severus had been summoned that night.  
  
"Severus," he'd gasped, kneeling down beside the broken wizard. Severus's eyes were rolling into the back of his head, but he managed to spare a weak glance at Albus.  
  
Albus carried him in his arms, dragging him inside the light of his chambers where he could see the damage. He nearly vomited; never in all his years of warring had he seen such a sight.  
  
He'd been burned. Repeatedly. Red and black blisters, shiny simpering skin covered his body. His robes hid little, torn and burnt, nearly shredded. His left leg was set at an odd angle and there was little skin on his knees. He must have ripped the last of it off crawling on the stone floor. His hair was falling out, chunks at a time, most of it already gone.  
  
"Oh, Severus," was he could say as he cradled him on the floor.  
  
"Need a bath, Albus," his throat constricted, sending him into a violent fit of coughs.  
  
"Everything will be fine, we'll bath later," he whispered, feeling Severus wince as Albus's robes shift against his scorched skin. He took down the wards to his room, a dangerous move, but one he was willing to make. Pressing a chaste kiss to Severus's chapped lips, he prepared to apparate them both to St. Mungos. Severus leaned up weakly, trying to deepen the kiss, only to cough again, little bits of blood and spittle dribbling down his chin, "Everything will be fine," Albus repeated.

* * *

Severus's hooked back up to the breather. It's much like the muggle machine; a mask's attached over his nose and mouth, pumping air into his lungs. But there's no tubes connecting it to anything; it's simply spelled that way.  
  
He hasn't woken up yet, which worries Albus. The healers aren't sure whether he ever will. There's internal damage. The Death Eaters had somehow burned his organs. Albus still holds his bandaged hand, wondering how on Earth Severus had made it to his rooms. It sounded nearly impossible, from what the healers had been telling him.  
  
Earlier in the day he witnessed the healers changing the bandages in his legs. The skin was red and scabbed over, white flakes covering the burns. The healers had told him that was normal.  
  
Albus has also asked them why it was taking so long to heal the external wounds. Pomfrey would have that much cleared up but now. The answer he got disturbed him.  
  
The burns had been infused with a sort of magic the healers hadn't seen before. No amount of potions or spells seemed to have any effect on his condition. They had a task unit working around the clock for him, but as of yet they hadn't been able to come up with anything.  
  
Albus's reaction wasn't that of surprise. It certainly answered his question on how Severus had gotten away. The Death Eaters wanted him to be found. They wanted him to suffer.

* * *

Albus sits over him, watching intently, and thinking. No, Severus had never been beautiful, nor had he been some exotic enigma. But, Albus ponders, if he had been it certainly would have ended by now. Even the healers aren't so whether they'll be able to save his skin. Perhaps dignity and beauty aren't quite so different, he wonders. Though all of this theology and such has never been to Albus's liking. He prefers to live in the here and the now, despite his knowledge of such things.  
  
Severus still sleeps on, unmoving except for the steady breathing of his chest. That's the one improvement the healers are happy about. His breathing is normal again, and except for the odd night, Severus doesn't require the use of any masks, which relieved Albus extensively.  
  
Albus caresses a clear spot on Severus's face, unmarked by the stinging red burns and the medicine they've plastered over it. It's their latest treatment, though they don't have much hope. The last six treatments failed.  
  
Severus twitches a little and Albus smiles. At least he's dreaming under there, Albus muses, watching as Severus twitches a second time, moving his shoulder a bit.  
  
"Relax," he whispers, "just rest,"  
  
Severus's eyes flutter open and look around wildly, before settling on Albus, who's still sitting beside him, smiling softly.  
  
"Albus?" his voice is still hoarse.  
  
"Yes," he answers, feeling for the first time, since this ordeal began, happiness, "everything's alright," he tells him quietly, hushing him when Severus opens his mouth to speak, "save your voice, and rest,"  
  
Severus doesn't nod; Albus is sure he doesn't have the strength. He simply closes his eyes and yawns, falling back to sleep.

* * *

Albus knows Severus isn't beautiful, especially now with his shaved head and peeling skin, his limp and dependency on his cane. His nose seems bigger somehow; because of the odd angle it sits at, much more crooked than before.  
  
But now, lying comfortably against the pillows of Albus's bed, eyes sliding shut from exhaustion, naked body entangling with his lover's, Albus is sure that he's never witnessed such beauty in all his long life.

Fin.


End file.
